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libra_travellerThis short story uses the title and idea of a much longer actual novel, which I have yet to truly begin. The original idea I had early in high school, I just loved the title. Titles are sometimes my favorite part of coming up with a story or poem. I never leave anything untitled.
The horn was loud as it came blaring down on the girl. I watched from afar, near a set of bushes on the side of the street. I was late again. This was the third death this week I’d been unable to prevent. To be honest, I had yet to save anyone, but that didn’t stop me from trying. It was a nauseating sound as the body was crushed by the truck. Now don’t think I did nothing. I yelled at the girl to move, but she just stood there in shock. I could’ve ran and pushed her out of the way, but risking my own life for a stranger is hard to do.
I hate this part. It is where I go up towards the body and needlessly check for a pulse. Then I watch as the spirit rises from the body. They always look towards me, expecting answers. I tell them how they died, since it’s not always obvious and then I tell them to wait. Somebody will be by to pick them up. This girl’s spirit is a crier. She begs me to talk to her parents and tell them how much she loves them. I kindly point out that it’s not my job, but I’m sure they already know how she feels.
This next question I’ve heard over and over again. ‘Am I going to heaven or hell?’ We’ll see. ‘How will I know?’ The guys in red take you down, the women in white take you up. This girl is lucky, the ladies come for her. I say goodbye as I usually do then take out my pad and write her name down on my list. Somehow I always know their names. It’s not my duty to call for an ambulance. If the truck driver has a conscience he’ll do it. Time for me to walk away. I take one last look at the mangled body and shudder. I truly dislike my job.
I suppose I should explain how I came by this distasteful task. I was once like everyone else, except I had a talent. A talent for knowing when someone was about to hit the dirt. I was thirteen when it started. I knew my sister’s frog was about to croak. Yeah, laugh it up. I tried to warn her to take it to the vet, but she didn’t believe me. When it finally died she accused me of killing it. Crazy brat. I was nice though and said a few words at Kermit’s funeral. And no, that wasn’t its name.
Naturally I thought the whole thing was a fluke. Maybe the frog simply looked ill and it was just instinct to believe it had a short time left. Then it happened again. This time it was an old man that lived next door. I told my mom my suspicions. She assured me he wasn’t that old. I knew I was right, so I made sure to spend as much time with the man in his last moments as I could. He died two weeks later. My mom didn’t know what to say.
The next year when I told her our dog Nancy was a goner, she took her to the vet. Turns out she had some disease that would make her go crazy. A month later when the symptoms started to appear, we had her put to sleep. My gift was slow going but when I was sixteen it started to pick up.
In October of that year, I just knew that around the world there would be an Earthquake that would kill thousands. I told Dad who had a friend with a contact with a weather institute. They started researching into the country and came up with past seismic activity in the area. One of the men tried to inform the people of what would happen but no one listened. That week thousands died as I knew they would. Yes, I grieved for all those lost souls that night.
Little deaths happened around me for the next few years. Imagine knowing that the boy in your chemistry class was going to get into a car crash coming home from a friend’s party. I politely reminded him to have a designated driver, I suspected there would be drinking. Turns out it wasn’t his fault, another driver came at them. See my gift never gives me all the details. I was lucky, my parents and sister understood, accepted who I was. Though they freaked me out a lot by asking when they were going to die. I was happy that I didn’t know.
Then when I was twenty I found out my house was going to burn down and my family was going to suffocate from the smoke. I was so terrified I prayed every night for it not to happen. I refused to tell my family about it as I didn’t want to scare them. Plus I’d always failed in stopping the deaths before. I was away in college when I got the news. They were dead and I was alone.
The day of their funeral it rained, I mean it poured. A guy in a black suit came up to me. “Are you Mr. Brocke?” Strange man. I answered, “I go by Cid.” He handed me an envelope and walked away. I opened it and found a job offer. Not what I expected to receive at my family’s burial. The oddest thing? It was a chance to work with Death. Yeah, I was freaked, and disbelieving, plus I always had a grievance with Death. I hated knowing how people we’re going to leave this world. Why would I want to work for him? So what did I do? I tore it up and threw it away of course, and went to the wake where everyone eats and talks about the departed.
Crazy thing is a month later I found an envelope in my mail box at my school with the same offer. This time I read the whole thing. I’d be paid to help the souls after they died. Why not? I was going to watch them die anyways, why not help them say goodbye first, right? So I went to my job interview. I was hoping to meet this so-called Death, but I only got one of his lackeys. They asked me what my skills were. I was a people person and I always felt when death was going to occur. That was good enough, I was hired.
He gave me a glowing rock, an honest to god glowing rock. He said it’d help me see the spirits as well as the retrievers. I asked what the retrievers were. Angels and devils he said. I asked him what I was, a stand-in he said. Great. I’m supposed to travel and meet up with the deceased and help them with their transitions.
After twenty deaths and comforting each one, I ran into a problem. This man didn’t want to leave. He came at me yelling, accusing me of standing by and just watching. When men in red robes came to take him he fought. I thought that a spirit had no strength but the man sure had a powerful punch. Gave me a black eye.
I visited my boss as I had a question that only Death could answer. I demanded an appointment with him. Surprisingly it was granted. I met Death and I wasn’t even dying. Anyone who thought Death looked like the Grim Reaper was gravely mistaken. This man work a black suit. He had pasty skin, dark eyes, and a great deal of charisma. The man exuded confidence and power. I was scared shirtless.
Here I was going to ask Death the big question. Why do people die? I fumbled it a bit. I swore he was going to laugh at me, he had an amused twinkle in his eye. “Cid”, he said. “I run a business here. I have a quota to uphold. If I let everyone live my business would fail.” I’m reasonable, I could see his point. Still, I had to point out it wasn’t exactly fair.
He gave me this opportunity to attempt to save the lives of the deaths I came across. The catch? He wouldn’t tell me how to save them. “If you can prevent a death then I’ll give that person ten years at least where nothing can kill them.” Sounded like a sweet deal, so I took it. Ever since I’ve been trying to save lives. As of yet, the score stands at Death 43, Me 0.
I’m twenty-six and I have a job tracking the dead. This is a far cry from the life as an accountant I had planned. Then again, I’m counting the dead for Death. Life is strange indeed.
The horn was loud as it came blaring down on the girl. I watched from afar, near a set of bushes on the side of the street. I was late again. This was the third death this week I’d been unable to prevent. To be honest, I had yet to save anyone, but that didn’t stop me from trying. It was a nauseating sound as the body was crushed by the truck. Now don’t think I did nothing. I yelled at the girl to move, but she just stood there in shock. I could’ve ran and pushed her out of the way, but risking my own life for a stranger is hard to do.
I hate this part. It is where I go up towards the body and needlessly check for a pulse. Then I watch as the spirit rises from the body. They always look towards me, expecting answers. I tell them how they died, since it’s not always obvious and then I tell them to wait. Somebody will be by to pick them up. This girl’s spirit is a crier. She begs me to talk to her parents and tell them how much she loves them. I kindly point out that it’s not my job, but I’m sure they already know how she feels.
This next question I’ve heard over and over again. ‘Am I going to heaven or hell?’ We’ll see. ‘How will I know?’ The guys in red take you down, the women in white take you up. This girl is lucky, the ladies come for her. I say goodbye as I usually do then take out my pad and write her name down on my list. Somehow I always know their names. It’s not my duty to call for an ambulance. If the truck driver has a conscience he’ll do it. Time for me to walk away. I take one last look at the mangled body and shudder. I truly dislike my job.
I suppose I should explain how I came by this distasteful task. I was once like everyone else, except I had a talent. A talent for knowing when someone was about to hit the dirt. I was thirteen when it started. I knew my sister’s frog was about to croak. Yeah, laugh it up. I tried to warn her to take it to the vet, but she didn’t believe me. When it finally died she accused me of killing it. Crazy brat. I was nice though and said a few words at Kermit’s funeral. And no, that wasn’t its name.
Naturally I thought the whole thing was a fluke. Maybe the frog simply looked ill and it was just instinct to believe it had a short time left. Then it happened again. This time it was an old man that lived next door. I told my mom my suspicions. She assured me he wasn’t that old. I knew I was right, so I made sure to spend as much time with the man in his last moments as I could. He died two weeks later. My mom didn’t know what to say.
The next year when I told her our dog Nancy was a goner, she took her to the vet. Turns out she had some disease that would make her go crazy. A month later when the symptoms started to appear, we had her put to sleep. My gift was slow going but when I was sixteen it started to pick up.
In October of that year, I just knew that around the world there would be an Earthquake that would kill thousands. I told Dad who had a friend with a contact with a weather institute. They started researching into the country and came up with past seismic activity in the area. One of the men tried to inform the people of what would happen but no one listened. That week thousands died as I knew they would. Yes, I grieved for all those lost souls that night.
Little deaths happened around me for the next few years. Imagine knowing that the boy in your chemistry class was going to get into a car crash coming home from a friend’s party. I politely reminded him to have a designated driver, I suspected there would be drinking. Turns out it wasn’t his fault, another driver came at them. See my gift never gives me all the details. I was lucky, my parents and sister understood, accepted who I was. Though they freaked me out a lot by asking when they were going to die. I was happy that I didn’t know.
Then when I was twenty I found out my house was going to burn down and my family was going to suffocate from the smoke. I was so terrified I prayed every night for it not to happen. I refused to tell my family about it as I didn’t want to scare them. Plus I’d always failed in stopping the deaths before. I was away in college when I got the news. They were dead and I was alone.
The day of their funeral it rained, I mean it poured. A guy in a black suit came up to me. “Are you Mr. Brocke?” Strange man. I answered, “I go by Cid.” He handed me an envelope and walked away. I opened it and found a job offer. Not what I expected to receive at my family’s burial. The oddest thing? It was a chance to work with Death. Yeah, I was freaked, and disbelieving, plus I always had a grievance with Death. I hated knowing how people we’re going to leave this world. Why would I want to work for him? So what did I do? I tore it up and threw it away of course, and went to the wake where everyone eats and talks about the departed.
Crazy thing is a month later I found an envelope in my mail box at my school with the same offer. This time I read the whole thing. I’d be paid to help the souls after they died. Why not? I was going to watch them die anyways, why not help them say goodbye first, right? So I went to my job interview. I was hoping to meet this so-called Death, but I only got one of his lackeys. They asked me what my skills were. I was a people person and I always felt when death was going to occur. That was good enough, I was hired.
He gave me a glowing rock, an honest to god glowing rock. He said it’d help me see the spirits as well as the retrievers. I asked what the retrievers were. Angels and devils he said. I asked him what I was, a stand-in he said. Great. I’m supposed to travel and meet up with the deceased and help them with their transitions.
After twenty deaths and comforting each one, I ran into a problem. This man didn’t want to leave. He came at me yelling, accusing me of standing by and just watching. When men in red robes came to take him he fought. I thought that a spirit had no strength but the man sure had a powerful punch. Gave me a black eye.
I visited my boss as I had a question that only Death could answer. I demanded an appointment with him. Surprisingly it was granted. I met Death and I wasn’t even dying. Anyone who thought Death looked like the Grim Reaper was gravely mistaken. This man work a black suit. He had pasty skin, dark eyes, and a great deal of charisma. The man exuded confidence and power. I was scared shirtless.
Here I was going to ask Death the big question. Why do people die? I fumbled it a bit. I swore he was going to laugh at me, he had an amused twinkle in his eye. “Cid”, he said. “I run a business here. I have a quota to uphold. If I let everyone live my business would fail.” I’m reasonable, I could see his point. Still, I had to point out it wasn’t exactly fair.
He gave me this opportunity to attempt to save the lives of the deaths I came across. The catch? He wouldn’t tell me how to save them. “If you can prevent a death then I’ll give that person ten years at least where nothing can kill them.” Sounded like a sweet deal, so I took it. Ever since I’ve been trying to save lives. As of yet, the score stands at Death 43, Me 0.
I’m twenty-six and I have a job tracking the dead. This is a far cry from the life as an accountant I had planned. Then again, I’m counting the dead for Death. Life is strange indeed.
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no subject
on 2007-07-03 09:07 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2007-07-03 09:32 pm (UTC)